


Chicken Soup for the Jedi Soul

by Redrikki



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Blind Character, Canon Disabled Character, Cooking, F/M, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Injury Recovery, Space Family Feels, Space family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-07 03:32:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11050443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrikki/pseuds/Redrikki
Summary: Four meals Kanan made for his crew and one he made for himself.Chapter 1 - Get a Man Who Can Do Both,in which Kanan seduces Hera with his amazing panna cakes.Chapter 2 - Meat and Sarcasm Guys,in which Kanan and Zeb bond over the grill.Chapter 3 - Tastes Like Teen Spiritin which Kanan heats Sabine some leftovers.Chapter 4 - Zen and the Art of Noodle Makingin which Kanan teaches Ezra his first lesson.Chapter 5 - Blind Taste Testin which Kanan makes panna cakes after Malachor.





	1. Get a man who can do both

Kanan Jarrus was in love. She was an older model, battle scarred with dings and patches of baked-on crud, but, in his eyes, she was perfect. He caressed his beautiful new robo-griddle, sliding his hand down her smooth surface until he found her on switch. She began to tremble and hum as the heating element warmed, and Kanan licked his lips in anticipation. He could practically taste the panna cakes already. 

Hera observed the mutual seduction with a raised eyebrow and the same air of half-amused skepticism she usually reserved for Kanan’s attempts at flirtation. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into buying this,” she said, shaking her head.

“And I can’t believe you lasted this long without one.” 

For five months he’d tried it Hera’s way, but a man could only live on caf and nutrient bars for so long. He needed flavor and something he could really sink his teeth into without having to worry about breaking them. It wouldn’t have been so bad if they’d just visited a diner occasionally, but apparently the Rebellion didn’t have time for such simple pleasures. He’d stumbled on the used robo-griddle at the market as though led by the Force. It was the solution to all Kanan’s culinary woes.

Hera sighed and rubbed her forehead. It wasn’t the first time Kanan had complained about her eating habits. She was probably just as tired of the argument as he was. “Do you even know how to use that thing?”

Kanan shot her a wounded look. After everything they’d been through, she was doubting his skills? Now that was just hurtful. Kanan poured out six near-perfect circles of golden panna cake batter just to show her he could. Then he flipped them using the fancy moves he’d mastered working at the Finger Licking Strip Club and Grill. Could he use a robo-griddle? He could do this blind or in his sleep. 

Hera gasped as he flipped one over his head and caught it on the plate. “How did you do that?” she asked with near-breathless wonder.

“Oh, I’ve worked a diner or two.” Or eight or nine, but who was counting? Back in his teens, Kanan had found that, while few shipping companies were willing to take a chance on a baby-faced pilot, diners were always hiring. Cooking was one of the most valuable skills in the galaxy. Helping out in a cantina kitchen was a great way to pay down a bar tab and tramp transports were always happy to take passengers who cooked.

The diner he worked at on Moraga put a local sap on their panna cakes, but most just served them with sweet blue bantha butter. Kanan dished his up with slices of meiloorum. He passed Hera her plate and waited with bated breath as she took her first bite.

Eyelids fluttering with pleasure, Hera let lose a nearly orgasmic moan. “This is—” She ate a second forkful making little noises of delight. “I take it back. Worth every credit.”

Kanan smirked and dug into his own panna cakes. “When you will realize that all of my ideas are good ones?”

Hera rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t go that far.” She took a third bite and a moment to regain the power of speech. “But, hmmm, I will give you this one.”

Kanan laughed. He could work with that. Next, he’d try talking her into a heating plate. He couldn’t wait to hear the sounds she’d make when she tried his Kalleran noodles.


	2. Meat and Sarcasm Guys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kanan and Zeb bond over grilling meat.

The nerf steak sizzled on the robo-griddle, filling the galley with the intoxicating scent of caramelized fat. Kanan closed his eyes as he savored the aroma. There was just something about the smell of cooking meat. It brought out the predator in even the gentlest of omnivores. 

It certainly brought it out in Zeb. He appeared in the doorway, nostrils flaring and up on the balls of his feet like a Loth-cat waiting to pounce. His nose pulled him across the galley to loom over Kanan’s shoulder. “Is that what I think it is?” he asked, his eyes zeroing in on his delicious prey. 

“Only if you think it’s steak,” Kanan said, flipping the meat. The raw side hit the robo-griddle with a satisfying _tssssss_ sound. “How do you like it?” He and Hera preferred it with just a bit of pink, but Zeb struck him as someone who liked it bloody.

“Still maa-ing,” Zeb said with a grin that showed off all his teeth. 

Kanan’s lips twitched as he pictured Zeb taking a bite out of some unsuspecting nerf. “Here.” He sliced into the meat. Blood oozed from its still-purple heart as he spread the wound wide. “How’s that?” he asked jokingly.

Zeb leaned in to give it a good sniff. “Perfect,” he said with another of his predatory grins. 

Seriously? Kanan shot him an incredulous look, then shrugged. It was dangerously undercooked for a human, but who knew about Lasat? Maybe they needed it that way. He cut Zeb off a bloody chunk and plopped it on a waiting plate. “There’s mashed daro root on the heating plate,” he said, jerking his head towards the pot.

Zeb dished himself up a healthy scoop of the stuff and found a seat at the table. Kanan normally preferred to eat with Hera, but Zeb dug right in. He ate with lip-smacking gusto but more genteel table manners than Kanan would have suspected of such a rough-looking character. It was an interesting contrast. Kanan didn’t know much about Zeb’s life before the fall of Lasan, but he’d been hiding his own past for too long to press.

In almost no time at all, Zeb was scraping his folk against an empty plate. A more indecorous Lasat might have licked it clean. Zeb just lounged back and belched. “That really hit the spot,” he said, absently scratching his belly. “If I knew you rebels ate like that, I would have joined up sooner.”

Kanan snorted. “Well don’t get used to it. That steak was a lucky break.”

The nerf’s former owner had cut him an incredible deal after it had been shot by an Imperial trying to make a point. Most of their protein came from freeze-dried meats in stews and stir fries. They ate daro root often enough, though. The local staple was ubiquitous, cheap, and tasted good with just about everything. 

“Shouldn’t be too hard to find fresh,” Zeb said, gathering up his dish and flatware.

“What?” Kanan whipped his head around to stare at Zeb as he loaded his dishes into the sonic washer. He had better not be suggesting they steal from the farmers they were trying to protect. 

“I used to hunt all the time back h—” Zeb shook his head, dispelling the painful word. “There has to be something worth shooting on this rock.”

“You mean aside from Imperials?” 

Zeb shot him another of those toothsome grins. “I’m thinking something a bit more edible.”

“Tell you what,” Kanan said, shutting off the robo-griddle, “you kill it, I’ll grill it.”

Three weeks later, Zeb took him up on his offer. The Loth-wolf was, well, not a nerf. The pelt was gorgeous, but the meat stunk like an old shoe and tasted worse. They both quietly vowed to never try that again.


	3. Tastes Like Teen Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kanan reheats Sabine some leftovers.

Kanan balanced the bowl of stew with one hand and rapped on Sabine’s door with the other. 

The hissing noise which had been coming from the room became abruptly conspicuous in its absence. “Who is it?” Sabine called, sounding ready to go for her blaster if she didn’t like the answer. 

“It’s Kanan.” With anyone else on the ship that would have earned him an invite. All he got from Sabine was silence as she mentally debated whether it was worth opening up to him. “I come bearing gifts,” he added, trying to sweeten the deal. 

There was an aggrieved teenage sigh from the other side of the door. Then Sabine it opened, unleashing a blast of paint fumes strong enough to make Kanan’s eyes water. He struggled not to spill the stew as he coughed and sputtered. How could Sabine stand being cooped up in there? How was she still breathing?

“Well?” Her tone said annoyance but her defensively crossed arms said something else. “I’m kind of busy right now,” Sabine added, gesturing to the stylized bird spray painted on the wall to the right of the bed.

“Whoa.” Hera might be a little miffed at Sabine defacing her baby, but there was something about the painting which drew Kanan. It was just so vibrant, all those reds, golds, and purples. It looked practically alive. “Sabine, this is gorgeous!”

Sabine blushed like the schoolgirl she should be. “Really?” she asked, nervously rubbing the back of her neck. “You think so?”

“I would’t have said it if I didn’t mean it. It looks—” Kanan waved his free hand, hoping to pull the right words from the air. “It looks the way flying should feel.”

Sabine beamed, basking in the praise. Then she remembered she was a moody teenager and went back to frowning at Kanan’s intrusion into her space. “What did you even come here for?”

“This.” Kanan thrust the bowl at her.

“Thanks” —nose wrinkled, she accepted the bowl and promptly set it on the bedside table— “it looks…” She grimaced and Kanan couldn’t exactly blame her. Chunks of Loth-rat, daro root, and globs of congealed fat had never looked less appealing. “It looks gross.”

It had looked delicious when Kanan had dished it out. After he’d sent his usual dinner announcement over the coms, they had waited for Sabine. And waited. And waited. And waited. They sat there for 20 minutes staring at their uneaten bowls before Zeb declared he couldn’t take it any more. Sabine’s seemingly abandoned stew had grown colder and colder as her crew mates ate and cleaned the kitchen. Kanan had finally gotten so sick of looking at it he decided it was time to see if Sabine was dead in her room, or just massively rude. 

“Well, maybe, if you'd eaten it when I called you—”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Arms crossed and chin up, Sabine was clearly anything but. “I didn’t realize mealtimes were mandatory.”

“They aren’t,” Kanan ground out through clenched teeth. Were all teenagers this difficult? He swore talking to Sabine was like trying to navigate a minefield. Charging angrily ahead was not going to end well. He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled his frustration. Then he let go and inhaled calm. 

“We try to eat together whenever possible. If you’d like to join us, that’s great. If you want to stay in your room and paint, that’s fine too. Just tell me first so I know how much food to make. Okay?”

The tension drained from Sabine’s body as he talked. She hadn't been _looking_ for a fight, he realized. She’d been _expecting_ one. “Okay.” She nodded. “Sounds fair.”

Kanan smiled with relief. Defusing teenage bombs turned out to be a lot easier than he’d thought.   
“You hungry?” Kanan nodded at the bowl. “I can reheat that for you if you want.”

“No, I’m—” A loud rumble from her stomach cut off whatever lie she was about to come up with. “Okay, yeah,” Sabine said with a sheepish smile, “stew sounds great.”


	4. Zen and the Art of Noodle Making

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kanan teaches Ezra his first lesson.

“What are you doing?”

Kanan didn’t jump at the unexpected voice behind him. He was too much of a Jedi for that. His knife, on the other hand, was so startled it leapt from the cutting board and nearly took a chunk out of his thumb. With Hera and Chopper off at their secret rendezvous with Fulcrum, Zeb drinking in town, and Sabine painting in her room, Kanan had thought he was flying solo for dinner tonight. Erza hadn’t even been here a full day and already Kanan had forgotten his existence. Some master he was turning out to be.

“Making noodles,” Kanan said once he got his breathing back under control. He didn’t offer to make Ezra some, just started chopping enough balka greens for the both of them. “You know how to cook?”

Ezra shook his head. “Not exactly.”

Kanan figured as much. He knew from experience there wasn’t much opportunity to learn on the streets. “There’s a heating plate and pot in that cabinet.” He pointed with his foot. “Set it up on the table and I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Ezra crowded in, rapt, as Kanan walked him through it. The onions and spices went in first, sizzling away in a puddle of oil. He waited until they were nearly translucent before adding the water and fish flakes to make the broth. The second it started to boil, he tossed in the noddles and greens. Kanan had been about Ezra’s age when Janus Kasmir had taught him to make this. He wondered what the old tuft-sucker would think about Kanan passing on his teaching. He wondered what Master Billaba would make of him passing on hers. At least with the noddles he knew what he was doing.

Noodle-making was more art than science. They boiled at different rates on different planets, but Kanan had made them so many times he could tell they were done just by looking. He snapped off the heating plate. “Hand me your bowl.” Kanan dished out half the pot, hesitated, dumped an extra ladleful in Ezra’s bowl, hesitated, and added some more. The kid looked like he could use it. Tomorrow Kanan would make something a bit hardier to put some meat on his bones.

All in all, it wasn’t his best work, needed more onions for one thing, but you couldn’t tell that from the way Ezra was eating. He wolfed it down like he thought it would run off, but took the time to make little noises of appreciation after each spoonful. Ezra was down to the dregs before Kanan had finished half of his. If the kid’s tongue had been a bit longer, he probably would have lapped up the rest of it like a Loth-cat. As it was, he tipped the bowl to drink the last few drops then swiped it with his fingers and licked them clean. 

“Got any more?” he asked, holding out his bowl. The smear of broth on his cheek said full, but the desperation in his eyes said starving. Kasmir used to say that Caleb was worse than a damn tooka-kit, but he hadn’t had anything on this kid. Ezra probably had no idea he’d been begging with the Force for years. 

Kanan narrowed his eyes, considering. He _could_ give Ezra his noddles and let the kid eat himself sick. _Or_ he could establish some boundaries instead of just letting his padawan walk all over him. Looking directly into Ezra’s eyes, he ate one slow spoonful after another. He tipped the bowl to drink the dregs. “Sorry” —he swiped his hand across his mouth— “all gone.”

The kid wilted like overcooked balka greens as he watched and Kanan felt a twinge of conscience. He knew exactly what it was like to starve. “Tell you what,” he said, clapping a hand on the boy’s shoulder, “help me clean this up and I’ll teach you how to make jogan fruit crepes for desert.” 

“All right!” Ezra leapt from the table and started gathering up the dishes. And now, Kanan thought, rising with a sigh, it was time to teach the kid to use the kitchen sonics.


	5. Blind Taste Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kanan tries to make panna cakes after Malachor.

Kanan used to joke about being able to make panna cakes blind or in his sleep. He’d much rather be testing the later rather than the former, but apparently the universe had other ideas. The universe was a real piece of work. If he’d had to guess before Malachor, Kanan would have thought that flipping would be the hardest part. As it turned out, just finding the ingredients was a real challenge.

“Okay,” he said to himself, “let’s think about this logically.” Since Malachor, everyone had been living on nutrition bars and mess hall food. No one should have moved his ingredients since that last time he had used them. That meant they should all still be in the cabinet over the caf dispenser. 

He opened the cabinet and hit the next snag. All their dry ingredients were stored in identical air-tight containers. They were clear enough to actually see the contents, so it had never been a problem back when he had functioning eyes. Kanan sighed, pulled down the nearest container, and opened it. Caf. Good to know, but not what he was looking for.

About to set it aside, Kanan hesitated. “There has to be a way to label these.” If not, he was going to have to do this every single time he wanted to cook.

“I can do it,” Chopper said, suddenly right behind him. These days, everyone was suddenly right behind him, assuming they weren’t just popping up next to him or reaching out of the darkness to grab his arm. It was getting old. Everything about being blind was getting old. 

“Fine.” It wasn’t like anyone else was lining up to help him. “Here.” Kanan thrust the container in Chopper’s general direction.

The blade of Chopper’s cutting tool buzzed as it did…something. Kanan realized he was literally waiting with baited breath and made himself stop. Chopper would be done when he was done and there was nothing he could do about it.   
The sound of Chopper’s blade cut off. “Finished.”

Reaching out at approximately Chopper height, it took Kanan a minute to find the container. He rolled it in his hands, trying to figure out what the droid had done. There, on the lid, Chopper had etched what felt like the word CAF. Nice. “Thanks, Chop,” he said, and reached for the next one.

They worked for the next half an hour, identifying and labeling everything in the cabinet. The flour he needed was in the fourth container, the sugar in the seventh, and the powered eggs in the eighth. Kanan set each one aside and kept on going. Open. Sniff. Label. Repeat. The sound of Chopper’s cutting tool filled the galley. 

The smells were making him hungry, or rather hungr _ier_. His stomach grumbled like a drunk with a hangover. Kanan was half-tempted to just grab a nutrition bar, but no. He’d spent too many years running from the difficult things. He couldn’t afford to do it any more, and not just because he’d probably end up running into a wall. 

“Ready for the spice cabinet?” Kanan asked bracingly and started in.

It took them just over three hours to work their way through every cabinet in the galley. As it turned out, the measuring spoons already had raised writing on the handles. It wasn't a design featured Kanan had noticed much before, but he was almost pathetically grateful for it now as he measured out the panna cake ingredient. His stomach rumbled impatiently as he set up the robo-griddle. Kanan slid his fingers across its smooth surface until he found the on button. He poured the batter and braced for the flip.


End file.
